A Mother, A Daughter, and the Legacy of Grunge

The Seattle grunge era emerged in the late 1980s and exploded into mainstream music scenes in the early 1990s. The era was rooted in the Pacific Northwest and was a reaction against the excess of 1980 glamour. NME describes the era as ‘rebellious, raw and introspective’. It brought a raw, unpolished, and deeply emotional sound to the forefront of music. One that outlined and confronted societal and political issues during the decade. As a cultural movement the era dealt with themes of alienation, frustration, and disconnection. Its aesthetic was deeply anti-glamour rejecting polished trends.

Seattle was the epicenter of grunge sound. In 1988 Mudhoney defined the genre’s raw, distorted guitar sound with their EP Superfuzz Bigmuff. Meanwhile bands such as Soundgarden and Alice in Chains introduced a darker, heavier approach. 1991 was a turning point in grunge as Nirvana released Nevermind and the album’s lead single, Smells Like Teen Spirit. In their breakthrough, music labels were desperate to sign on more Seattle based bands such as Pearl Jam who released their debut album Ten the same year. 

The grunge era symbolically and physically ended with the tragedy of Kurt Cobain’s death in 1994. The genre continued but many bands either disbanded or evolved into new sounds, post-grunge and alternative rock began to take its place. 

Despite its short lifespan grunge has always remained a dominant force, one that reshaped the authenticity of bands to come, and the generation involved. 

My mum was one of those members of the era and here is her story and legacy:

‘I was never the kind of girl they wrote Hallmark cards for. Still not. I wore my eyeliner smudged, my dresses long and flowing and always wore my docs. Worn, torn, kicked to bits. I didn’t do sexy or sweet. I did rage, grief, music, truth. And I didn’t fit in. Not at school. Not in my town. Not even in my own skin.

Then came grunge.

Northern girl. Early ’90s. Too loud, too intense, too much. Underneath it all A scared girl. Angry, but afraid. Strong, but fragile. Then came Nirvana, Hole, L7, PJ Harvey, Babes in Toyland, Bikini Kill—women who screamed like me. They said: you can be terrified and still take up space.

The Mayfair, Newcastle, ’91. Nirvana. Sixteen. The pit was chaos, but it felt like home. And there she was—Grunge Buns. Lip ring, nose ring, hair like defiance. No name. No words. Just elbows locked, pulling each other up off the sticky floor. Solidarity in the sweat.

That girl in me found her tribe. And she became something else: a riot grrrl. Unafraid. (Well, mostly.)

Now I’m nearly fifty. Still wearing the boots. Ageing is wild, I hate it and I love it. Because somewhere in the mess, I found someone who doesn’t care what anyone thinks.

And then—there’s her, MY riot grrrl

 Just me and her, from bump to brilliance. My firecracker. My greatest achievement. Natural redhead, inked and pierced, fierce as hell with no interest in being palatable. She fights for women. For LGBTQ+ rights. For truth.
She is everything I am—and more. Unfiltered. Undeniable. Unapologetically her.

I didn’t raise her to be me.  
I raised her to be braver. Louder. Sharper.

So no, this isn’t your glitter-coated, mass-produced Mother’s Day card.  
It’s a love letter.  
To the girl I was. To the women who raised me in the noise.  
And to the daughter who makes the whole fight worth it. So, if you’re brave enough to cross her and the stronger, smarter sequel doesn’t kick your arse twice over and stick a rose in it—  
I’ve still got the boots…

As her daughter I have always been brought up to be unapologetic and unforgiving. Perhaps this was through her role as a single mother facing society whilst bringing up a child alone or perhaps it was purely down to the grunge era empowering her to do so. I remember many times as a child listening to Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Red Hot Chili Peppers, the list honestly goes on. The grunge era isn’t the only thing she taught me, but she taught me to love and appreciate music as its own art form. To dissect and inherit lyricism into my life to become the best version of myself. Before grunge, for her, there was Bob Dylan and beat poetry. In the 1960s, Dylan was one of many voices to challenge the government he was for my grandfather, and grunge was for my mum. But we inherit all these standing themes and demands of rebellious music. 

I sat with her a couple of weeks ago to talk in depth of her time during this era and it was a whole other experience to truly see myself and all my policies and morals in her younger idealist self. She is still the same powerful and unregretful woman with everything she has taken in stride. I couldn’t thank her enough for all her stories and dilemmas she has given me the opportunity to listen to. Embodying her true self in all its flaws and beauty has been the foundation to my life.

I thank her every day for the inspiration and empowerment she has given me, and the space she created so I could come into myself. She has been accepting, encouraging, and uplifting. 

Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers in every aspect, and all daughters especially who find themselves in this article.